Chapter Nine

THE WARNING CALL

“One, two, three!” chanted the bats. The march to the coyotes’ den took them down a shadowy path through the heart of a gum tree forest. The animals were all tired—having had only a few hours of sleep.

“So much senseless chatter,” grumbled Bismark. “These bats talk just to hear themselves speak!”

Dawn wasn’t listening to the sugar glider’s complaints. She was scanning their surroundings for any signs of movement in the darkness. Something didn’t feel right. A westerly breeze blew in from the direction of the nearby pond, carrying with it a musty, sour scent.

“Oh goodness, is that what coyotes smell like?” asked Tobin. His scales were bunched together in fear.

A shrill howl rose up nearby and Bismark halted. “Wait! Basta! This is madness! We are about to walk into the jaws of these vicious predators! This goes against every instinct in my beautiful, bite-free body!”

“I’m certain Dawn has a plan to keep us safe, Bismark,” said Tobin.

“My lovely fox,” said the sugar glider, “enlighten us as to the specifics of this plan of yours. Will my role involve being chewed, swallowed, or otherwise eaten?”

Dawn opened her mouth to respond but then suddenly stopped. She squinted, raised her head, and let out a quiet yowl.

“I see that I have moved you beyond what words can express,” said Bismark. He blew on his nails casually. “I was not even trying, you know.”

Dawn shook her head then made the sound again.

“Oh goodness, does your stomach hurt? I think I swallowed a bit too much of that algae, myself,” said the pangolin.

Dawn sighed. “The distress call was a bad idea. From now on, let’s just say ‘help,’ or ‘look over there’.”

Bismark nodded. “Yes, no need to speak in nonsensical sounds that nobody can really understand, ça va?

“So, look over there,” whispered Dawn. She bobbed her neck in the direction of some tall grass by the side of the path. At first glance, it was perfectly ordinary, except for an odd flower with a long, drooping stalk and a blossom like a paintbrush. But there, between the blades of grass, were two familiar points of light.

“Oh goodness,” Tobin whispered.

“Don’t be alarmed, my innocent friend,” Bismark said to Tobin. “The fox is merely drawing our attention to the beautiful scenery. What are these spooky-looking trees called, my love?”

There was no reply. Bismark’s brow furrowed. All seven animals—Dawn, Tobin, Cora, and the four bats—gazed past him, their eyes trained on something just behind him. And they all wore expressions of fear. “Mon dieu! Is it something I said?” asked the sugar glider, his eyes growing wide.

Cora shook her head.

Slowly, Bismark rotated his head and looked over his shoulder.

“Ahhhh!” Spotting the eyes of the spy, the sugar glider shrieked.

“Eeeek!” So did the strange little creature.

“Ohhh!” The rest of the crew replied. And then they sprang into action.

Tobin shot a noxious scent from his gland. Bismark lunged forward, his gliding flaps spread wide. Dawn pounced with bared teeth.

There was a great commotion as a flurry of dirt and dust surrounded the animals. There were shouts here, furry limbs there, a bundle of bat wings flapping—chaos. When the uproar subsided and the air cleared, the animals saw the suspect before them, pinned and writhing beneath the commanding paws of the fox.